Somebody's Hero
by NicoPony
Summary: Gambit is sent to Genosha by the US Government to steal a secret weapon. What is the weapon, and who is the special agent who failed before him? Guest starring Bella Donna and Nick Fury
1.

Somebody's Hero

Chapter One

New Orleans, Louisiana The French Quarter

He was seated at an outdoor café with a dog-eared paperback watching them watch him. She was sitting across from him, listlessly turning the pages of a fashion magazine and staring out at the world from behind designer sunglasses. His gaze flicked to her and their eyes met. Wordlessly, his eyes moved on to the two men across the street. The woman nodded, and followed his gaze. Together, the couple at the café turned to look at the strangers. They looked for the entire world like a couple out on a date, comfortable and familiar with one another, enough so that words did not need to pass between them.

The attractive couple were silent watchers. Their combined unwavering stare was enough to make the watching men nervous. The oldest of the pair looked to his partner and shrugged. The other swallowed nervously and tried to ignore the trickle of sweat rolling down the center of his back. He opened the passenger door to the black Honda Accord he and his partner had arrived in, and hefted the large manila file from the seat. Glancing around the interior of the car, he took a mental inventory of the car's contents: candy wrappers and paper from fast food meals, a flattened pillow, napkins and index cards with scribbled addresses on them, and a few misplaced black and white photographs. All in all, it had been a difficult few man straightened and looked at his partner from across the roof of the car. He nodded and the two crossed the street.

The couple at the café watched them serenely as they crossed the busy city avenue. Both men were dressed in crumpled black suits and ties. The younger of the two was nervous, sweating in the humid New Orleans heat. He loosened his tie, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly. The older man was calm and businesslike, with silver hair and a clean-shaven ruddy face. The two men paused a few paces from the café table, assessing the seated couple. The younger man shifted, and as he did so, a sheaf of papers slid from the hefty manila envelope. As he scrambled for the papers, the other black-dressed man approached.

"Mister LeBeau," he said, not a question, but a statement.

"Yes?" the man replied, adjusting his dark glasses.

"You're a difficult man to find," the older man said as the younger man shuffled up behind him.

"Really, now?" Remy responded. "Imagine how much harder your task would have been if I knew you were lookin' for me."

"Do you mind if we have a seat?" the older man asked.

"Be my guest," LeBeau replied.

The blond-haired woman made no move to make room for the pair. The older man pulled a chair over from a nearby table and sat, leaving the younger man to stand nervously with his papers. The younger man scrambled for a chair and balancing the precarious files, sat wedged between the blond and his elder.

"Mister LeBeau, my name is James Marshall. I'm an agent of the CIA. Agent Berkley and I have been seeking you for the past few months."

LeBeau and his companion gave no sign that they were surprised by the man's introduction. LeBeau's eyebrow raised in expectation of Agent Marshall to continue.

"I've been informed by my superiors, and in junction with Interpol, that we are permitted to grant you forgiveness for past crimes."

"Past crimes?" Remy questioned and with a self-deprecating grin said: "You've got the wrong guy. Why, I'm as innocent as the day I was born."

Agent Marshall cleared his throat. With this prompting, the younger man inched forward, chair-legs squeaking across the pavement. He produced a sheaf of papers fastened together with a paper clip. The top paper was labeled as "Classified" with the notation below of events that had taken place in an underground New York tunnel known as "The Alley." For the first time since their initial encounter with the CIA agents, LeBeau expressed an emotion other than mild interest. The look on his face was akin to barely subdued outrage. The two men he had initially prepared to dismiss took on a new dimension.

"Thank you for taking the time to inform me of the absolution from my," he emphasized the word," so-called past crimes." He began to stand, his silent companion following suit. "If you'll excuse me."

The older agent made him pause. "Your exoneration would only be a result of an..exchange."

LeBeau lowered himself back into his chair. "What are you proposing here? Blackmail? I know the hand you've been dealt, homme, and you got nothin'. Can't hold me accountable for a crime I didn't commit and you know nothin' about."

"There's more," the agent added. "Theft..kidnapping..government infiltration.." as he spoke, the younger agent produced one file after the other until the pile on the table measured several inches high. LeBeau sniffed haughtily at the files.

"And if I refuse what you have planned for me?"

"We will have to have you incarcerated, preferably, in a facility made to restrain a person of your particular..abilities."

"How amusing," LeBeau responded.

The blond shifted in her seat, speaking for the first time as she leaned in LeBeau's direction. "Remy, would you like me to end this conversation?" she asked, her gaze meaningfully glued to the two men across from her.

"It was just getting interesting, Belle," Remy replied. "Gentlemen, if you would continue."

"One of our specialty agents has disappeared," Agent Marshall began as his younger handed him a rolled up map. "Here," he said, pointing to a location on the map.

"Genosha?" Remy questioned.

"Yes," Marshall responded. "We lost communication with her several weeks ago. As it was, things were not going well for her, and we had all ready begun seeking you out at that time. Her name was Yalena Ushakov," Agent Berkley leaned forward, sliding a snapshot across the table toward Remy.

"Was?" Remy asked, looking at the picture. She was a handsome woman, with dark hair and eyes. Her lips were a tight line.

"We suspect Yalena is dead," Marshall said. "Due to the extreme danger of her mission and the lack of communication."

"What exactly is this mission?" Remy asked.

"All of the information is outlined in this file," Marshall said as Berkley handed Remy yet another envelope. Remy opened it briefly and gave the contents a glance.

"Very well," he said, standing. "I'll need some time t'think about this."

"I highly suggest that you avoid trying to flee the city tonight," Marshall added.

"Right," Remy said. His eyes went to the thick files barely constrained by Agent Berkley's arms. "May I?" he asked, extending his hand. The younger agent looked to Agent Marshall. Marshall nodded and Berkley relinquished the files to LeBeau.

"Belle?" Remy turned to his companion. The couple gave a brief nod to the two seated government agents and strolled away down the street, as if their exchange had not occurred.

"Was that smart?" Berkley asked. "Just letting him get away like that?"

"What choice do we have, Berkley?" Marshall responded. "For all your files, we were bluffing. We had nothing on him that would hold up. The man's bulletproof."

Agent Marshall sighed and leaned back into the uncomfortable café chair. Amidst the remainder of the various files that had taken years to accumulate was a paperback book, left behind by the elusive Remy LeBeau.

"Martin Guerre," he said. "What?" Berkley asked, looking up from rubbing his furrowed brow. "The Return of Martin Guerre. It´s about a guy who comes back from war in the guise of a woman´s husband. Turns out the doppelganger was much nicer than the original husband. He became the town and the woman´s hero," Marshall replied flipping through the well-worn book. "It's a classic."

* * *

"Will you be leaving, then?" Bella Donna asked, as she slipped off her blouse.

Remy, lying on his stomach, his chin resting in his hands, glanced up from the paperwork strewn across the foot of the bed.

"Hm?" he said.

"I asked if you would be," her voice deepened to a throaty drone, in imitation of Agent Marshall, "`fleeing the city tonight.'"

Remy's eyes returned to the papers and photographs. Belle turned her back to him and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground.

"Remy," she said, "I hope you aren't considering taking that mission." She turned to him when he elicited no response.

He was morosely staring at a black and white photograph. Bella Donna approached the bed and climbed up to sit beside Remy. She picked at the lace on her white slip before leaning over his shoulder to look at the photo.

"Your father?" she asked. There were three people in the photo, two men and one child. Remy's father, Jean-Luc LeBeau was on the right. In profile, it was easy to see his broad grin. He was looking at the child in the other man's arms. The other man was taller, broad in the shoulders and wore a patch over one eye. He was dressed in a uniform that was unknown to Belle, with an eagle emblazoned on his shoulder of his jacket. The child was Remy himself, about seven years of age. Remy was holding what appeared to be a grenade in his small hands.

"And who is this?" Belle questioned, pointing to the man on the left.

"Nick Fury," Remy responded. "M'dad's friend."

"A government agent?"

"Yah, works for SHIELD," Remy said. "Poppa met Nick back in World War II. My dad would sometimes take missions. Steal f'r the government."

Belle lay back on the bed. "I hear those government jobs have great benefits." She tugged at the hem of his boxer shorts. He turned to look at her. "So what kind of dirt do they have on you anyway?"

"Remember that jet I stole?"

"Hm, one of your finer moments," Belle said.

He fluttered a pink slip of paper at her. "Here's the bill."

They lay in silence, head to foot, looking at one another.

"You're not your father, Remy," Belle said finally. "And you don't need anything that they can give you."

"No, I don't," he agreed.

"And will risking your life on some foolish mission do what for you, exactly?"

Remy turned over on his back and reached over his head for a second photograph. Yalena's face grimaced at him from the glossy photo. The image looked more like a mug shot than a file-photo.

"How could I resist, Belle? Exciting adventure, a damsel in distress.."

"Don't try to make light, Remy," Belle snapped, her eyes boring her fury into the ceiling. "Your dumb little hero routine doesn't work on me. Now you listen here," she said in her best authoritative voice. "I want you to pack your swim suit, sunscreen, and a change of underwear. You're fleeing the country tonight and I won't have any buts about it. I'm booking you a flight to Sydney and that's that."

"Aw, Belle, you never let me have any fun."

* * *

She heard him get up late in the night; the soft rustle of the bed linens sliding off his skin and the sound of him finding his clothes in the dark room awakened her. The bed squeaked softly as the weight of his body shifted from the mattress. She made no move to indicate that she was awake, or that she acknowledged him leaving. For her, it was a painfully familiar scene.

On the night of their wedding, it had been much the same. He had taken special care to make his movements as silent as possible. Bella Donna had lain awake, unmoving with her eyes closed and breathing slow. He had paused at the door before leaving, as he did now, watching her pretend to sleep. Understanding passed between them in silence, as it usually did. She understood he was leaving, but not why. She hadn't at first understood why he had left on their wedding night. It was only later that she had discovered that her brother had been slain in a duel involving her newlywed husband.

Belle supposed Remy was honor bound to accept the challenge proposed by her brother, Julien. For all his protests against the workings of his family guild, their honor-bound traditions and beliefs, it was ultimately Remy's own feelings of pride and honor that had broken his ties to his family. After the duel, Remy was forced to leave both the guild and his wife.

She wondered if it was his feelings of honor that drove him now. If something from his upbringing had transcended the betrayal he suffered at the hands of his family and his forced exile from the guild. Was he conditioned to be so stupid? she asked herself. To take such foolish risks for the sake of honor? Or was it something more? It was as if he had an unending desire to punish himself in outlandish ways. Maybe that was why he had come to visit her in the first place.

Belle pushed her face into her pillow with a small unhappy noise. She shouldn't be so hard on herself. It wasn't as if time spent in her company was a punishment. She mulled the thought over for a moment. It made him feel good, she decided. It made him feel good about himself to do these things. To help others. To be the hero. He was addicted to self-affirmation.

She listened to the rumbling sound of his motorcycle's engine from the street below. She imagined him looking up at the bedroom window, at least in her romanticized image of him, before driving off into the night. Belle slipped out of bed long after he had gone. Dawn was approaching, and the sky was turning a soft dove-gray. The light was enough to softly illuminate the room. She pulled her silk robe from the vanity screen and slipped it on. Stretching her arms above her head, she shuffled to the window to draw back the curtains. There came a sound of crumpling paper as her bare feet slid across the smooth hardwood floor. Lifting her foot, she bent and picked up a rolled tube of paper. She uncurled it and peered nearsightedly at it in the dim light. It was a map, carefully outlined with detailed instructions. A curling red line denoting a chosen path skirted the coast of an island up to a city named Hammer Bay. Belle let the map curl back up onto itself. She pulled aside the sheer drapery covering the window and looked out at the world. Clutching the map to her chest, Bella Donna smiled into the rising sun.


	2. 

Chapter Two

Somewhere over the Indian Ocean En Route to Genosha Remy dozed, lulled to drowsiness by the sound of the droning engines and his own boredom. The cargo hold of the plane was for the most part empty, save for him, his lone chair, and a half dozen enormous crates. The vastness of the space only served to amplify the sound of the airplane's engines. He was on his way to the island nation of Genosha. Remy had found the two government agents, Berkley and Marshall, sitting in their car outside of a Burger King. Judging from the greasy smell of the car's interior, the fast food chain was a favorite of the two men. From there, the agents had taken him to a government airfield. There, the details of his mission to Genosha were spelled out to him.

Remy had wondered to himself if his father had done just the same years ago. Did he sit in the same stiff office room chair? Watch the images of his mission on the same projection screen? He was to be secreted into the country. After landing in Genosha, he was to make his way to the capitol of Genosha, Hammer Bay, where he was to break into the magistrate's - president's - dictator's - whatever's..citadel. Did presidents have citadels? Remy wondered.

He was beginning to conclude that the only person to ever declare owning a citadel would be Magneto. No one else would have the balls to have one. But then, `Big Shiny Building' didn't exactly have the same authoritative ring that `citadel' had. He was thankful for the distraction. Breaking into citadels of a dangerous island nation run by one of humankind's greatest enemies was much better than thinking about..other stuff. Other stuff like his personal life. While flying off into a dangerous situation and getting killed could definitely put a damper on his dating situation, he didn't regard the mission as personal, it was a job. He was confident in his abilities, assured that he could accomplish anything by trying his hardest. But as far as his personal life was concerned; his personal relationships with friends, family, and lovers, he felt that he was just bumbling through it; blind with hands stretched forward, stumbling over unseen obstacles.

Rogue always seemed to be at the pinnacle of his pyramid of problems. He wanted to rationalize their excruciating relationship by telling himself that Rogue was just plain crazy. Women in general were crazy; he had come to that conclusion long ago. Seemingly, Rogue had patented whole new brand of craziness. But it wasn't as simple as that. It was hard to dismiss the woman he loved as a nutcase. Harder still to admit to being angry with her. He had to be compassionate with her unique situation, try to understand and respect her feelings. But dammit, sometimes it was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her by the shoulders, giving her a good, hard shaking, and screaming at her until he was hoarse.

Bella Donna was a different matter completely. Rogue had the tendency to fly off the handle. Belle too had a temper, but rather than running as far and as fast as she could from her problems, she ran straight at them, screaming, with something sharp and pointy in one hand. She would pick at him slowly, instead of taking a more direct approach like Rogue did, until she got what she wanted from him. Belle could usually get what she wanted from Remy. He told himself he was more at ease with her because of their friendship. Realistically, life was much more difficult being her enemy. Still, he wondered why he found himself missing her so much.

One of the pilots leaned out of the cockpit of the plane. "Mr. LeBeau, we're nearing your destination." Remy nodded and unfastened his seat belt. They would be flying over a no-fly zone, and he had to work quickly unless they were to be shot down by Genoshan forces. His few belongings had all ready been stowed in one of the large crates. The co-pilot helped Remy into a small padded compartment in the crate. He felt as if this was the biggest egg-drop experiment to ever take place, and he was the unfortunate egg. Several crates would be dropped over Genosha, under the pretense that they were supplies for Genoshan refugees. According to the plan, the crates would be dropped by the cargo plane along the Genoshan coastline, far from the heavily defended capitol city of Hammer Bay.

"Explain to me again why I have to be crammed into this crate again?" he had asked hours earlier, as Marshall had debriefed him. Parachuters had been shot on sight, Marshall explained. There were mutant x-factor detectors on the island. The plane they would be riding in would be escorted out of the no-fly zone by the Genoshan armed forces. The pilots flying the plane had made many runs previous to this mission. After many, many flights where relief crates had been dropped, with no intent to infiltrate Genosha, Genoshan authorities had wavered in their suspicion. Remy had wilted beneath the barrage of reasoning. It looked as if he had no choice; into the crate he would go.

From his landing point, (or would that be crash site?) he would make his way to the city, into Magneto's citadel, and locate the item he was to steal. Afterwards, he would contact the crew that would retrieve him. He had outlined all the details on the map. The map. It was in his duffel bag, wasn't it? Remy rummaged through his belongings in the darkness of the sealed crate. The map was gone.

"Hey!" he said, banging on the side of the crate. "You guys!"

There was a thunk and the sound of the cargo bay door opening. The crate began to slide backwards.

"Oh. Crap."

* * *

He was in a free fall, plummeting to the earth in a crate. Remy wasn't sure how many times the crate had turned over in the sky, but his stomach was telling him it had been one time too many. According to the plan, a parachute on the top of the crate would be deployed and he would glide to the ground. According to the plan, he wouldn't end up a splatter on the geography below. Unless of course, this was all an elaborate government conspiracy to get rid of Remy LeBeau once and for all. It seemed unlikely, but he would have been honored if they went to such extremes just to dispose of little `ole him.

After a few thousand feet, he was almost certain this was going to be the case. Hadn't he fallen far enough? Shouldn't the parachute have opened by now? The parachute opened with a snap that spun the crate abruptly right side up. He knew it was just his imagination, but the crate didn't seem to be falling any slower. He wasn't positive, but he was pretty certain that this was the worst moment of his life. No, wait. Antarctica, that had been worse. But only marginally. The crate stopped falling with a painful crack. There was a sound, or rather, a sudden lack of sound. Remy realized that the air around him was now devoid of the sound of him screaming. He risked a breath.

The crate suddenly plummeted, but only a few feet. Slightly embarrassed, he realized his scream lasted longer than the fall itself. Moving slowly, he righted himself and put his heel to the door. He had expected to have to blow the lid from the crate, but the splintered wood gave way easily. Remy found, much to his surprise, that he had a few more feet to fall. He hit the ground with a heavy thud. Moaning, he rolled over onto his back. The crate dangled from a tree above, its parachute entangled in the branches. Remy's belongings tumbled out of the crate, raining down on him. The heavy duffel bag landed on his abdomen. He crumpled into fetal position with a gasp of pain. A metal canteen dislodged itself from the crate and went "boing" as it dinged off of Remy's head. He switched from cradling his stomach to clutching his head.

"Oh, ow. Ow. Ow. Ow." The tree above creaked. He risked a glance upwards. Remy scrambled to his feet, grabbing his duffel bag as an afterthought and leapt.

The crate tumbled from the tree and shattered. Remy stood, somewhat shakily, and turned slowly, surveying his environment. Trees surrounded him. Just beyond the forest, he could spy the white sand of a beach and the green of the ocean beyond. Not far to his left were the remnants of another crate. He would have to leave quickly. No doubt, people would be coming to inspect what the U.S government had deposited on their beach. Probably, they would have guns. Disoriented and map-less, Remy stumbled away from the crash site. He needed to find a road and a ride to Hammer Bay.

* * *

The black and white photograph fluttered in his hand, teased by the passing wind as the pick-up truck ambled down the road. He was sitting in the bed of the truck, his legs dangling off the back. The tires kicked up the dust from the cracked asphalt road. He shared the bed of the truck with a young blonde girl with sharp elbows and knobby knees. She kept her hair cropped close to her head. The girl wiped her arm across her forehead, leaving a clean streak of sweat through the grime on her face. She had a scar on her forehead, the blotchy remains of a tattoo that she had attempted to have removed.

"That's a nasty bruise you've got," she said suddenly, turning to Remy and pointing at her head, just above her temple.

Remy's fingers went to his forehead. "Yah," he said, wincing slightly. "It's those damn giant beavers again."

The girl gave him a strange look and grinned. "If you say so," she said, laughter in her voice.

"Remember what they tell you, when you're thrown you've just get back up in that saddle and ride." She was seated leaning against the side of the truck-bed, facing the direction that the truck was heading. The girl leaned forward and tapped on the glass that separated them from the driver. The driver slid back a glass panel.

"How much further?" she asked. "Coupla miles," the man replied and snapped the window shut.

"Friendly guy," Remy said.

"So where you from?" the girl asked. "What camp?"

"It would be the one with the giant beavers."

"I see," the girl looked sad and sat back down.

"Er," Remy said, judging her sudden unhappiness was caused by his unwillingness to chat. "I'm not from a camp, I'm not from the island."

"Really now?" she said, running her hands through her short blonde hair. "You mean you're not from the Cajun part of Genosha?"

It was Remy's turn to give her a grin. "Is that your girlfriend?" the girl asked.

"Hm?" Remy said, then looked down at the photo in his hands. "Oh, her? No."

"She didn't look like your type." Remy examined the face in the picture. Yalena's statement was severe, but her face was attractive. There was something familiar in her features, something he couldn't put his finger on. He turned away from the photo.

"Where are you headin'?" he asked.

"Hammer Bay," she replied. "S'where I live."

"Oh, yah? I'd be nervous, me, livin' there."

"Really? Why?"

"Dunno, guess bein' so close t'the big cheese would give me the creeps."

"Y'mean Magneto?" Remy shrugged.

"It's not so bad," she said. "Livin' here, I mean."

Remy looked at the landscape around them. The road was cracked. The buildings, while newer styles of architecture, had a worn corroded look. A few windows were cracked, some broken out. A few dusty palm trees were planted along the street. They waved meekly in the heated breeze. Everywhere people were walking. Unlike New York, or any of the other cities Remy had been in, the inhabitants didn't seem to be going anywhere in any kind of hurry. The bright sun overhead seemed to bore into the surroundings mercilessly. And everywhere was the haze of dust. Remy removed his sunglasses and wiped some of the fine yellow powder from the lenses.

"Mm, a regular paradise," Remy said, rubbing his glasses on the front of his shirt. "What exactly has de benevolent Magneto done for you lately?"

"What? Other than give us freedom?" the girl said, her tone suddenly angry.

Remy looked at her. "If your definition of freedom is bein' stuck on some crummy island in the middle o' nowhere, I guess all must be fine and dandy. What were you doin' so far from Hammer Bay anyways?"

The girl suddenly gripped her worn army-green bag closer to her side. Remy raised his eyebrows in expectation of an answer, but none was forthcoming. Remy sighed and put his sunglasses back on. "Look, I'm sorry if I insulted you or somethin'." The truck rolled on down the road. The two passengers rode in silence.

"Sometimes I'm scared living here," the girl admitted quietly.

Remy looked at her with sad eyes. "Sorry t'hear that. Mus' be tough, wit' no way off this chunk of rock."

She smiled weakly, "I was hoping you'd say something more reassuring."

"Which I could."

* * *

The truck came to a halt along one of the busier streets in Hammer Bay, signaling that the hitched ride was over. Celeste hopped off the truck-bed, burning the backs of her exposed thighs on the hot metal of the bumper. She risked a glance back at the man she had traveled with; hoping that she wouldn't catch his eye. As it was, he was chatting with the driver. Something exchanged between them, an object that glinted in the light of the hot afternoon sun. The driver gave the other man a nod, and a grunt of appreciation. Celeste hiked her bag over her shoulder and hurried away. She rubbed her forehead self-consciously. Better not to talk to the off-islander. Could spell trouble. Better not to look into those strangely beautiful eyes again. That not only spelled trouble, but also printed a pamphlet on the subject and handed it to people who were stupid enough to answer the doorbell.

When she reached her building, she hurried up several flights of steps to her apartment, avoiding eye contact with the other building's inhabitants. She reached her small flat with a sigh and flung her bag down on the kitchen counter. A can of unidentifiable soup rolled out and trundled across the counter until it plummeted off the edge and hit the floor with a thud. Celeste ignored it and tugged open her refrigerator door. She was greeted with a soft, cold blast of air. She paused there, drinking in the cool clean air, happily wasting some electricity. After all, it seemed to be the only thing that was affordable on this damned island.

There came a knock at her door. The sound jarred Celeste's nerves. No one had ever knocked at her door before. She slid over to the door. Maybe its him, she thought, that red-eyed man. Heat crept to her face. Celeste cracked open the door. She was severely disappointed.

"Can we bother you for a moment of your time, miss?" said a man in official uniform.

She peeked around the corner of the doorjamb. Another man stood just out of her range of vision. "What do you want?" she asked, with a demanding tone in her voice.

"If we could speak to you in private," the man said. "Inside."

"Here is fine," Celeste responded.

People in uniform, people with any kind of authority at all, in fact, bothered her to no end. It made holding a job pretty difficult.

The man sighed. "Ma'am," he began. "You were spotted entering the city this morning. It seems that you come and go quite often."

Celeste was suddenly filled with indignation. They were keeping tabs on her! She was outraged, and moved to say so. The man raised a placating hand.

"There is no cause to be defensive, ma'am. We are familiar with many of the scavengers."

"You say that as if we're a cult," Celeste snapped.

"Well, were you or were you not scavenging the dropped crates this morning?" Celeste glowered at the man.

"What if I was? I didn't take anything but what I needed. There's still medical supplies and stuff out there. I don't fence it! I'm not like those other-" Again the officer raised his hand.

"Ma'am, our only concern is the possibility of something dangerous being secreted into one of those emergency crates."

Celeste's eyes flew to the can of unlabeled soup lying on the linoleum of her kitchen floor. It suddenly appeared very suspicious indeed.

"The man that you entered the city with this morning...?" the officer implied.

"Hunh?" Celeste said, tearing her attention away from the offending soup can. "What?"

"You were seen in the company of two men entering the city. The driver and another passenger."

"Oh," Celeste said, her heart suddenly pounding. "Oh him. What about him?"

The officer shifted his weight to his other foot. "Are you familiar with this man? Where did you happen upon him?"

Celeste arrived at a decision. "Oh, that's just Jack," she said with a laugh.

"Jack?" the man queried. "Yah, I see him every once in awhile, out there," she said. "Ya know, scavenging and stuff."

The officer nodded. "I see. Do you know where we might be able to find Jack?"

Celeste paused, "I'm not really sure. He mentioned something about beavers, though."

"Beavers?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Celeste asked. "Yah, beavers. He was always saying `dam this,' and `dam that.'"

"Ha ha," the officer said mildly. "Well, thank you for your time." The pair turned to leave.

"Hey," she said, stopping them in their tracks. "This `dangerous something' that yer lookin' for? Wouldn't come in a can with a white label an' black letters on it, right? Sez "S-O-U-P" on the side?"

The officer risked a smile. "No, ma'am. We're thinking it's something a little larger than twelve fluid ounces."

"Right, then," she said, giving the men a wave. "Thanks." Celeste closed the door with a shaking hand and leaned back against it. Maybe there was something dangerous in the debris of the wrecked relief-supply crates. Most likely, it stood about six-foot, had long brown hair, a crooked smile, and burning red and black eyes. At least she knew the soup was safe.

* * *

Washington, D.C

The Pentagon

Colonel Nick Fury was sitting at a desk. Not "his" desk, just a desk, because Colonel Nick Fury would never work a job that required him to have a desk. In fact, Nick wouldn't even classify the piece of furniture before him as a desk. It was merely a surface for him to sit behind and intimidate any who would enter the office (also not "his" office). It was a table for him to rest his elbows on while he ate a 12-inch sub sandwich. At this moment, for example, it was a place for him to fill out paperwork. In fact, the paperwork which he filled out now was, in actuality, a work of art, in which battle tanks and jets and battalions of soldiers shot guns, dropped bombs, and blew up stuff. If one listened carefully, one might be able to hear the faint sounds of battle emanating from Colonel Fury's mouth. "Ack-Ack-Ack! Fwoooosch...Ka-Blammo!"

The intercom on the desk crackled to life. Nick Fury compulsively crumpled up the doodle and stashed it in the bottom drawer. The voice of his secretary, (not "his" secretary), Mrs. Pierce, echoed through the intercom.

"Colonel Fury," she began slowly. "Am I interrupting anything important?" She had learned from earlier experience not to interrupt him during his "Secret-Battle-Planning-Time."

"Eh, no. No, Mrs. Pierce," Nick cleared his throat. "What is it?"

"Ms. Valerie Cooper is here to see you." Nick glanced over at his calendar. It was the twelfth. But there were no appointments scheduled for the day, just a really cool drawing of a battle tank with a smiling stick figure standing on the roof holding an American flag. The stick figure had an eye-patch over one eye.

"Uh, right. Send her in Mrs. Pierce."

The door to the office opened to allow Valerie to enter. Mrs. Pierce was staring at her with a peculiar statement on her face. Valerie somewhat forcefully closed the door in the secretary's face.

"Val," Nick began standing up from behind his...the desk. There was something strange about the woman, Nick thought, but he was never good at noticing girl-type things. It looked like the same old Val to him, her blonde hair tucked back behind a Jackie O-like scarf. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Her lips painted the same bright red. Maybe she lost weight. Maybe that was it, he thought. Even if he was wrong, chances are, Val would probably be flattered if he mentioned it.

"Did you lose some weight?" Nick asked. "You don't look as fat as you used to."

Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say. The woman's brows dipped down and her lips scowled. She dashed forward, planted one of her stylish heels down on the center of the desk and launched herself at him. Before he could cry out, she had clamped her hand over his mouth and they both fell to the ground. Nick was pinned with his stomach to the floor and the woman, (who come to think of it, didn't really look too much like Val after all), on his back. She had one of his arms bent back, and her knee strategically placed somewhere between his thighs. The intercom crackled.

"Colonel Fury?" said Mrs. Pierce. "Are-are you all right?"

"Tell her you're fine," hissed the blond woman. Her hand moved from his mouth, and she pressed the heel of her hand against his cheek.

"Fine!" he called. "I'm fine, Mrs. Pierce."

"Very good," said the blond woman. The scarf that had been covering her hair slipped back, revealing the short locks that framed her angular face. She momentarily took her hand from his cheek and whipped off her dark glasses. Her eyes were violet in color.

"What do you want?" Nick slurred from his uncomfortable position on the floor.

"I guess I do owe you an explanation," she said, a soft southern tinge to her voice. "Do you know that they won't let just anyone into the Pentagon?" she quipped. "That they won't even let a person talk to you during your "Secret-Battle-Planning-Time"?"

Nick glared at her with his one good eye.

"I don't mean to hurt you, I'll let you know," she continued. "But I do have twenty-seven different weapons hidden on my person, and it would be embarrassing for you to have to see me remove them from where they are hidden. As to why I am here, I need your help. Or rather, someone you know needs your help." She placed a black and white photograph in front of his nose.

He recognized the people in the photo immediately. His friend Jean-Luc and the man's son. "Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"My husband," she hissed back.

"Husband?" Nick asked. "Jean-Luc's?"

Cradle Robber, he thought to himself, followed by the thought: Lucky Stiff!

"No, dummy!" she replied.

"Him!" and she pointed at Remy.

"Remy? But he's not-" he began. He wanted to finish with "old enough to have a wife." After all, the last time he'd seen the little squirt he was only so-high. Just a little kid. Every year for Christmas, Nick still sent him a plastic robot that could change into another plastic robot.

The woman stood up, snatching back the photo and relieving the pressure from Nick's back. Nick climbed to his feet, keeping a wary distance from the woman.

"Remy needs your help," the woman said. "And you were the only person I thought could help."

"He's in trouble?" Nick asked.

"The CIA shipped him off to Genosha on an assignment. Sounds like trouble to me."

Genosha? he thought. It sent an uncomfortable chill through him. The kid was a mutant to boot. Nick squinted at her, then nodded slowly. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," she replied. "But if you and Jean-Luc were friends, could you really live with the chance that you left his son is in serious danger?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, rasping his hand across the stubble on his face.

"All right," he said. He opened the drawer of the desk and un-crumpled his drawing. Pointing at one of the doodles he asked: "Do you think one of these will help?"

* * *

Hammer Bay, Genosha

So this is a citadel, Remy said to himself. It was big and shiny and roundish on the outside. It stood like a glowing beacon in the center of the city, strong and reassuring as it towered over the city inhabitants. Things went on in there, important things, surely, protecting the future of the island nation of Genosha. Outside, Remy had encountered many guards. They swarmed the place. Remy wondered how the city-folk didn't seem to notice this. They didn't seem to notice anything, in fact. But the plethora of guards surrounding the building set warning bells off in Remy's head. Something was definitely up.

Night fell on Genosha, the cloudless dark sky sucking up the heat of the day. The citadel posed a challenge to the mutant thief. The building's sides were slick and windowless. There appeared to be no underground entryways through sewer and drainage. There was just one obvious entryway, a big door, but no one seemed to go in or out. The top of the building was flat, possibly a landing place for helicopters. It seemed to be a sort of watch tower, or a penthouse suite, but Remy doubted the latter. The building was no creation of modern construction. Magneto himself had shaped it like a potter would throw a pot on a wheel. Start from the base and pull, stretching smooth sides up and up, seamlessly. Only Magneto didn't use clay, he used metal.

Remy circled the building several times, watching from the bustling street. The citadel was actually composed of three silo-like towers. On the back tower he spotted an opening, several stories above the ground. It was some sort of air duct, and judging from its angular shape, which stood in sharp contrast to the curvature of the building, he guessed that it had been added after the building was finished. He had watched the guards passing all day. Although they seemed to randomly walk by, he began to see a patterning to their ambling strolls around the citadel. Maybe they weren't too concerned about anyone breaking in. But then, who would be stupid enough to try to break into the Master of Magnetism's base?

Remy watched as two guards rounded the far side of the building. When they passed, he would have several short minutes to make his way up to the building and fire his grappling hook up at the duct opening. He would have to move quickly, because there were also guards roving the street in Jeeps, rounding up loiterers and escorting them away. After all, it was after curfew. All good mutants would be in bed by now.

The guards disappeared around the curvature of the building. Double-checking his surroundings for any of the curfew-enforcers, he darted across the street and across the short lawn that surrounded the citadel. Remy aimed a handheld device at the duct and pressed a trigger. The device fired a grappling hook and line. It spiraled upward and hooked into the grate. He felt extremely conspicuous climbing up the side of the metal building. If he were spotted, he would know soon enough. All of the guards had hefty guns that would put his X-Men teammate, Bishop, to shame.

At long last, he reached the grate opening. He was shocked to find two of the four bolts holding to grate to the air duct were missing. The remaining two had been all that was supporting his weight on the climb up. Why would such a powerful building that was so heavily guarded be so shoddily maintained? With a small charge, courtesy of his mutant ability, he blew up one of the remaining bolts. Sliding it back on the remaining bolt, he slid into the duct and replaced the grate behind him. He tightened the last bolt with a wrench, so that the grate wouldn't swing free. There was very little dust in the air duct. Being a connoisseur of tight crawling places, he found this to be deluxe accommodations. There was only the acrid hot smell of welded metal.

Remy crawled forward on his elbows, his heavy pack of tools dragging behind him. He had packed heavy for this occasion, since he had not known quite what to expect. When he reached the end of the vent, he peered out of the slits in the grating. There was nothing to see. Beyond was complete darkness. There was no sound save for an eerie mechanical hum. Remy let himself out of the duct. From the opening, he had to grapple down to a walkway below. The walk ran along the circumference of the tower. The rest was empty. The tower was much like an empty grain silo. He heard himself sigh. He was hoping for a giant sign, maybe reading "Steal Me." No such luck. Using his trusty grappling line, he lowered himself down the silo, down into the emptiness. He hung on the end of the line, spinning slowly in the darkness, like a spider on a silken thread. He was trying to make out exactly what he was looking at. He showed his tiny flashlight into the space before him. He was staring at a huge metal wall of some kind, which was placed in the center of the silo. The wall was not flat, but had a strange curvature to it. Down below, the wall tapered downwards. Remy lowered himself, slowly letting out the line. The wall divided into two trunk-like forms. He found himself lowered to the floor, staring down at the thick cables that ran like enormous black snakes across the silo floor. He tore his gaze away from the black cables and glanced back up. His jaw dropped slowly, as recognition dawned on him. The trunk-like forms were, in fact, legs. The wall he had been facing was an enormous torso. He shortened the line. Not far from the torso, hanging on traction, was an arm. He was looking at a Sentinel.


	3. 

Chapter Three

Remy had spent much of his spare time studying the files that the two CIA agents, Marshall and Berkley, had given him. There were grainy photographs of the citadel, most of them taken from outside. There was a rough floor plan of the inside of the building. He had thought at first that the many empty areas outlined on the schematic were the fault of guesswork, but he had come to realize that the empty places on the map were actually where the Sentinels were being constructed. Perhaps the least helpful items in the file were the transcripts recorded from the special agent, Yalena, and her conversations with a nearby American Armed Forces vessel. The record was much like the floor plan of the citadel, full of gaps and blank areas where Yalena's voice had met with interference of some sort. However, it made for an interesting read.

Yalena: The cables go up the walls, contained in pipes. Yes, it's going to be quite a climb without using the lift.

Recorder: What do you think they're transferring through the cables?

Yalena: Don't know. They don't seem to be power cables. Information, data of some kind?

Recorder: So it's being programmed?

From there, Remy had been unable to decipher what "it" was, exactly. Now the cables lay across the floor around him, flowing from the walls in the pipes just as Yalena had described. He finally understood what it was that he was sent to steal. The powerful weapon that Magneto possessed was actually one that had been created to stop mutants. Remy wondered how he was going to fit the giant robot into his backpack. Remy followed the lines of cables up to the ceiling of the silo. From there, they disappeared into holes in the ceiling, probably going up into the watchtower he had seen from the street. An elevator was the only means of entering the upper level. Remy was nervous about this prospect. One way in meant only one way out.

Neglecting the elevator button, he opened elevator doors using a strip of metal he usually reserved for breaking into cars. The elevator car was there and he popped open the emergency panel in the roof of the car. Once on top of the elevator car, he spied a small ladder along the inside wall. Happy he wouldn't have to use the elevator cable, he turned to the ladder and began his long climb upwards. He was sweating by the time he reached the top of the shaft. He used his jimmy again to open the doors. They whispered open.

Beyond was darkness, which was less deep because of the spacious windows that made up the room's exterior walls. Moonlight spilled across an office-like setting. There were long conference tables and rows of cubicles and computers. The tabletops glowed blue from the dim light of dozens of sleeping monitors. Again, he found emptiness. He wouldn't be able to steal Magneto's secret weapon, but he could sure steal all the specs on the Sentinels, and probably do some technological sabotage while he was here.

Remy crept slowly across the carpeted floor, keeping watch for the security cameras. He reached into his carry-bag for his removable hard-drive and cables, to better transfer the information he needed. As he did so, one of the monitors flicked to life. He halted immediately. The computers were touch-sensitive, and some unfelt tremor had caused it to come to life. He stood in the room, listening to his breathing that sounded suddenly too loud. His eyes scanned the room. A human form slowly stood up in the darkness; a silhouette outlined against the window and the deep blue sky beyond.

"So you finally found me," said a female voice. "I was beginning to wonder when you bastards would catch up to me."

Without further explanation, she raised a pistol and fired. Remy dove to the floor as the bullet zinged overhead and hit the wall behind him. He scrambled across the floor, leaving his backpack behind and dashing towards the cover of the cubicles. He rounded a corner and risked a glance at his aggressor. She was spinning slowly, trying to find him in the darkness. Her gun still poised to fire.

"Come out, shithead," she hissed into the darkness, her voice trembled, obviously scared. She was backing towards him slowly, unaware of his presence.

She was within several feet of him when he leapt up. As she turned, he knocked the gun from her grip and bore her to the ground. He turned her onto her back. Through the tangle of her dark hair, he recognized her pale face.

"Yalena!" Remy exclaimed. Her brow furrowed and she looked at him, puzzled. She ceased her struggling against him. "You're alive," he continued.

"Well, fuck," she said with a relieved tone in her voice. "You're a sight for sore eyes. I thought you were one of those Genoshan eggheads."

"I'm Gambit. I was sent by the CIA," Remy said, helping the woman up from the floor.

She nodded as if she had known all along. She was thin, much thinner than her picture had shown him. And her clothing was worn and dirty.

"I guess you're here to finish the job I didn't do." Remy returned to his fallen backpack.

"Something like that," he responded. He began to fit his equipment to a computer server.

"Funny," he said suddenly. "With a name like `Yalena,' I was expecting you to have an accent."

"I lived in Michigan my whole life. It probably goes against all the rules, but I don't have a goofy Russian-spy accent," she glanced over at the elevator. "We'd better go, they are bound to have noticed that gunshot."

Remy nodded absently, his focus on the computer before him. "Right, just one second." As if on cue, the elevator car began to move. "C'mon, c'mon," Remy hissed at the computer.

Yalena grabbed her gun from where it had fallen and made a dash for a panel on the far wall. She beckoned to him frantically. Remy fumbled with a disk and threw everything into his backpack and followed after her. The pair squeezed themselves into a tiny crawlspace, another air duct. The door to the elevator opened. From the darkness of the duct, Remy was unable to see how many had arrived, or who they were. The lights in the office beyond flickered to life. Two men were engaged in heated conversation. Chairs and tables were overturned as others searched the office for the intruders. Someone exclaimed when the hole left from the gunshot was found. A shadow fell over the grate to the air duct.

"According to the cameras, there were two of them," a man was saying. "Alert the rest of the guards, have the entire citadel searched."

Yalena grasped the sleeve of Remy's jacket to get his attention. "Follow me," she whispered.

Remy crawled after her. They came to a junction in the air duct. The duct continued to both the right and left, but also led upwards and downwards.

"Where do we go from here?" Remy asked.

"Can't go down, it leads down the silo to the front of the building. We'd be spotted from there."

"Up, then," Remy responded. "I'll go first and drop you a line."

He slipped past her and pressed his back to one side of the duct and his feet to the opposite wall. Pushing hard with his legs, he was able to keep his back hard against the wall as he walked slowly upwards. Through the duct, the voices of the searching guards echoed around him. At the top of the duct, a cool breeze greeted him. He opened the duct and found himself on the roof of the citadel. Hooking his grappling hook to the side of the grate, he lowered a line down to Yalena. The rope went taught and he waited as she climbed up. The moon had disappeared as the light of dawn softened the deep night sky. The roof of the building was vacant and flat save for the top of the elevator shaft. Yalena's head cleared the opening and Remy helped her from the duct.

"What now?" she asked. Remy approached the edge of the roof and peered down at the short courtyard below. It was a dizzying height. In the center of the yard was the Genoshan flag. People milled about on the streets.

"I'm going to call a cab," Remy said, reaching into his jacket.

"What?" Yalena asked as he pulled out an intercom-like device. "What is that?"

"Our ticket out of here," Remy replied. "In the debriefing, they gave me this thing to contact the nearest Armed Forces vessel."

"No!" the woman shouted abruptly and almost smacked the small device out of Remy's hand and over the side of the building.

"Are you nuts!" Remy exclaimed. He did not have the opportunity to demand an explanation because at that moment, a great tremor from below shook them to their hands and knees.

"What was that?" There was a loud clang, and a seam appeared along the side of the silo.

There was a loud whirring noise and the seam parted. The silos were splitting open to reveal the giant Sentinel robots inside.

"This is not good," Yalena said.

"We need a way down," Remy said, searching frantically about.

His eyes locked on to the flagpole in the front yard. He quickly located his grappling hook's firing device in his pack and pulled out the line manually. He swung the device over his head and let it fly. The heavy end of the hook flew out into emptiness and whipped around the flagpole.

"We need a running start," he said. The silo below them was almost fully opened. The whole building hummed beneath their feet. "We'll jump at the same time, and you hold on to me." She nodded and they both backpedaled several yards.

"Ready?" he called to her over the sound of the opening doors. "We'll go one three. One..two..three!"

The pair ran across the roof. Remy made no hesitation before leaping out into the void. After leaping, he felt Yalena's weight hit him in the back. The line in his hands went taught as they began to swing around the flagpole, like a schoolyard tetherball. They started out in a long, sweeping arc, but as the line shortened as it wrapped the pole, their speed increased. The line began to slip from Remy's hands and he strained against Yalena's added weight. They were several yards above the ground when he was forced to let go. They both sailed out across the lawn, rolling roughly onto the grass. Remy looked up to see guards all ready rushing towards them.

"Let's go, go, go!" Yalena was screaming, and they broke into a dead run away from the guards. A Jeep was barreling towards them on the street.

"Run the other way!" Remy cried, aiming himself towards an alleyway.

"Hey! Hey!" someone was shouting. Coming in the opposite direction than the Jeep was a rusted out pickup truck. A blond-haired woman was at the wheel. Recognition dawned on Remy when he realized it was the scavenger girl he had met the previous day.

"Over here!" Remy called to Yalena as the truck slowed marginally. He leapt into the truck bed with Yalena hot on his heels. They whipped past the Jeep which was still driving in the opposite direction. Its tires squealed as it turned sharply to pursue the truck. Remy leaned towards the open back window. "I owe you one, cherie!" he called to the driver.

"You bet your sweet ass you do!" the girl retorted. "Just get me off this fucking island!"

"How did you find me?" Remy asked.

"I saw you looking at the citadel when we came into the city. When the guards showed up at my apartment, I knew you were up to something, so I hung around to wait for you to show up again," she said.

"I sort of borrowed the truck from our friendly driver..He said that whatever it was you gave him the other day was enough to buy him a new car!"

She took a wild, winding path through the city streets with the Jeep full of armed guards slowly gaining on them. Remy spun several charged cards at their pursuers. The small bombs detonated upon hitting the Jeep's front right tire. The vehicle flipped, spilling men across the street.

"There's more!" Yalena cried, as two other Jeeps sped out from side streets.

"That's not our only problem," Remy said darkly. Over the tops of the buildings loomed an enormous figure, which blocked out the light from the morning sun. One of the giant Sentinels stepped out into the street.

"Oh, shit!" the girl at the wheel exclaimed, looking in her rear view mirror. She turned in her seat to look at the ominous sight.

"Watch the road! The road!" Remy cried as the truck momentarily lost control.

The robot was missing one full arm and half of a second. Most of its finishing coverings had not yet been attached and its wiring was exposed, giving it the appearance of an amputated figure missing much of its flesh. It moved ponderously towards them. Up ahead on the road was the exit to the city, marked by a checkpoint booth. A guard was shouting into a hand held intercom and gesturing wildly. Beyond was the jungle.

"Watch yourselves!" shouted the driver, and Remy and Yalena ducked. The truck crashed through the checkpoint gates. Debris and a bewildered gate guard lay in their wake. The long strides of the Sentinel allowed it to gain on them further. Yalena and Remy watched the robot approach with mounting dread. Its dark shadow fell over them.

"Give me something heavy to throw!" Remy cried.

Yalena scrambled in the bed of the truck and handed Remy a tire iron. Remy braced himself with one hand, holding on to the side of the truck bed and swung his other arm back. Charging the metal rod as fast and as hard as he could, he took aim at one of the Sentinel's unfinished legs. He sent the tire iron spinning towards the encroaching robot. The weapon connected and exploded. The robot faltered and stumbled as its leg detached from its body. The great monster fell towards them.

"Hold on!" Yalena screamed. The truck pulled sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding the shoulder of the Sentinel as it crashed to the earth on their right. The earth shook when the robot fell and the driver lost control of the vehicle. Remy and Yalena were thrown from the truck bed and tumbled into the long grass. The truck turned over onto its roof and skidded to a halt. Remy lay on his back, facing the sky, stunned. A shadow fell over him, and he was momentarily filled with dread. But it wasn't the giant robot. Yalena leaned over him, grabbing his arm to pull him to his feet. She was speaking, but her voice seemed to come from a long way off.

"The Sentinel fell across the road," she was saying. "It will give us some time. We need to make it to the jungle."

Remy nodded breathlessly, and searched the grass for his backpack. He then made his way to the crashed truck. The girl was inside, looking at him through the shattered glass. Yalena and Remy both had to struggle with the door to pull it open. Leaning inside, Remy unbuckled the girl from her seatbelt and pulled her free from the wreckage. Blood ran freely from her lip and a deep wound in her head. He tried to pull her to her feet.

"C'mon," he said to her. "We're gonna make it." The girl smiled weakly, and shook her head.

"Gambit, we have to go now!" Yalena said.

Remy started after the other woman, pulling the blond girl with him. They were almost to the edge of the jungle when gunfire peppered the leaves overhead. Remy stumbled and he and the girl fell to the grass.

"Get out of here," the girl said, choking on blood.

"I won't just leave you," Remy said. "You saved us both and I don't even know your name!"

She smiled at him. "You can't be everybody's hero," she said. Her eyes closed.

"Gambit!" Yalena called, but more gently this time.

Remy left the girl lying lifeless in the grass. Heat rose to his face and the familiar sting of guilt filled his heart. He stumbled miserably after Yalena's retreating figure. They dashed through the forest, dodging through the thick undergrowth. Their pursuers had to abandon their vehicles at the forest's edge and were now seeking them out on foot. Every once in awhile, shots were fired and both Remy and Yalena would fall to the dirt. In their flight, they suddenly broke free of the forest and found themselves standing on the edge of a cliff face. They both looked out over the ocean with dismay.

"That's it," Remy said. "I'm sending the signal!" he pulled the com-link from his coat and hit the button before Yalena could protest.

"You can't!" she said. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"What's wrong with you!" he snapped back. "Do you want to die here!"

"Once you give that info to the government, they're going to nuke this stupid island!" Yalena declared.

Remy opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't find any response. "What?"

"All they want is the weapon!" she said. "Once they have it, what use is letting this nation exist! If you give them those disks, everyone here is going to die like your little friend back there!"

Remy shook his head in disbelief. The US government didn't know what the weapon was. They had sent Yalena to find out. When she disappeared, Remy was to take her place. "Did you keep the info on the Sentinels from them?" he asked.

"I destroyed most of my communication equipment slowly. It made it look as though I was encountering interference. Eventually, I stopped talking to them." Remy was holding the intercom device loosely in his hand. It was blinking on and off, letting him know that it had been activated. Over the sound of the pounding surf came the thumping sound of helicopter blades.

"We'll tell them we were caught," Remy said, digging out the disks.

"We'll tell them the weapon was destroyed when we were discovered. They'll believe that. I have a record of breaking big expensive things." He was about to cast the disks into the ocean when Yalena stopped him.

"Here," she said. "Give them to me." He had no time to argue.

The helicopter was on top of them, and the soldiers behind were almost upon them. The chopper hovered and turned slowly. An eagle was emblazoned on the craft's exterior. It was a SHIELD chopper. The pilot waved to them through the open door. Yalena leapt aboard. Gunfire suddenly ricocheted off of the rocks on which Remy stood. The helicopter was swept back by an errant ocean gust just as Remy leapt. He found himself swinging out over the ocean, gripping the landing gear of the chopper. His backpack plummeted down into the ocean below. Yalena was shouting to him and reaching forward to grip his arms. After several panicked moments, Remy was pulled into the helicopter. The pilot looked very relieved. Her face was white. The Genoshan guards broke free of the jungle and streamed to the cliff just as the helicopter turned from the island. Remy realized he recognized the pilot.

"Belle!" he exclaimed.

"Don't you ever pull a stunt like this again, Remy!" she scolded. "You don't know what I've been through trying to find your stupid butt!"

"How did you find me?" he questioned. "You left me your map, silly!"

"Oh, yeah, right. I forgot," he said.

"I paid a visit to your Uncle Nick," she began.

"He loaned me this chopper. Sorta, kinda."

"Uncle Nick?" Remy said. "You mean, Nick Fury?" he exclaimed.

She turned and smiled at him. "Yes, and I found the signal you sent. I hijacked it from the Navy carrier that's nearby."

"Belle," Remy said as he lay back on the floor of the helicopter, "baby, you're the greatest!"

She preened. "I know." A voice abruptly came over the radio in the cockpit. "This is the Naval Vessel Montgomery hailing the SHIELD chopper. Do you read me, SHIELD chopper?"

Bella Donna picked up the intercom. "This is Belle..on the, uh..chopper," she said haltingly.

"Ma'am," the voice at the other end said, "I'm going to ask you to change your direction and land here on the Montgomery."

"I'm returning to the SHIELD carrier," Belle responded. "Nick said to have it back by nine and that it had better have a full tank."

"Listen to me, lady," the voice said, clearly annoyed. "It is in your own best interest that you change your direction." A pair of helicopters dropped down into their view. "I've sent a couple of my men to escort you," the radio continued. "If you refuse to comply, you will be shot down, do you understand?"

The trio in the cockpit fell silent. "Well, this sucks," Remy said.

"How well can you handle this thing?" Yalena asked Belle, indicating the helicopter.

"Not so well," she admitted. "I only learned, like..today."

"Give me the stick," Yalena said. Belle looked as if she were about to protest, but Remy stopped her. The two women traded places.

"SHIELD chopper, do you read?" the voice on the radio said.

"Loud and clear," Yalena said. "Now you read this!" and she blew a raspberry into the intercom. She pulled hard on the stick and sent the chopper flying upwards. The two pursuing choppers momentarily disappeared from view. "Hold on!" she said as she pulled ahead of the two Navy choppers.

One of the Navy helicopters abruptly fired off their right side. "That was a warning shot," the man on the radio declared. "The next won't miss!"

"We've just got to make it to the SHIELD carrier," Belle said frantically. Yalena nodded and abruptly swung the chopper, nearly sideswiping a pursuing helicopter.

"You're nuts, lady!" Belle exclaimed.

"So I've been told," she replied. Their helicopter suddenly shuddered, the force of the blow sending Remy and Belle to the floor.

"We've been hit!" Yalena said.

"Can you control the chopper?" Remy asked.

"Not for much longer," she replied.

"You've got to bail! I'll hold her closer to the water so you two can jump!"

"And me without my swim trunks!" Remy said. Belle and Remy pulled the sliding door back open.

"Grab the life-vests," Belle said. The helicopter lost control momentarily and dropped swiftly before Yalena was able to muscle it back into stability.

"You have to go now!" she cried. Again, Remy was momentarily struck with the strange familiarness of Yalena's face. It seemed to have changed somehow. Remy risked a glance at Belle and nodded. At the same time, they leapt out over the ocean. The fall seemed to last for an eternity. He hit the water hard, and sank swiftly. Remy fought his way to the surface. When he broke surface, he risked a quick gasp for air, but was pushed back under by a wave. He felt a rush of salt-water flow into his lungs and spasmodically coughed. The surface found him again and he fought for air.

"Belle!" he shouted between gasps for air. "Belle!" Remy found her bobbing nearby. Unable to swim, he toed off his boots before paddling over to her. One lone orange life preserver floated nearby. He retrieved it and pulled it under Belle's arms to keep her afloat. He heard the helicopters roar overhead and glanced upwards. He saw the wounded SHIELD chopper, stuck in a downward spiral. Smoke billowed from the blade rotor. The body of the chopper hit the water. The blades chopped the water's surface once, twice, and a third time before the rotor exploded. The two Navy helicopters flew past once before circling back to their carrier. Remy and Bella Donna bobbed helplessly on the ocean waves.


	4. 

Chapter Four

Night fell on the Indian Ocean. Remy was floating, leaning back and holding Belle to his chest. Moonlight glinted on the black ocean surface. Despite the warmness of the water, their teeth were chattering. If they weren't rescued soon, they would both die of hypothermia.

"Wait," Belle said suddenly, the sound of her voice breaking the sound of the ocean waves. "What's that?"

A black form loomed on the horizon, its squat shape the only disturbance in the monotonous flatness of the ocean.

"I think it's land," Remy said. "An island."

"Was it always there?" Belle asked.

"I think there's a current. It must have swept us closer to the island. Hold on to my back," he told her. Despite both of them being strong swimmers, progress was very slow and excruciating. During their swim, another morning greeted them. The sunlight dazzled Remy's eyes as it reflected off the water's surface.

The sun rose to blaze down on them. Remy's arms burned with the effort of swimming. His thoughts wandered, putting the pain out of his mind. He was startled to consciousness when a wave swept over his head. He resurfaced. Belle still clung to his back. Another wave pulled him under and he kicked weakly against it. His leg and foot hit something hard and painful. He had struck a rocky shelf of coral. A stronger wave bowled the couple over, separating them from one another. Exhausted, he allowed himself to be swept to shore by the waves. His feet found the sandy beach and he pulled himself free from the push and pull of the current. Remy heard Belle's coughing nearby and saw her struggle up the beach. They both collapsed on the shore, the waves lapping at their toes. He was unsure of how long he had lain on the beach, but he was awakened when Belle began pulling on his arm.

"We have to get out of the sun," she said, her voice rough and quiet. They crawled up the beach toward a stand of palm trees. Remy promptly fell asleep in the shade.

* * *

The pilot of the Navy helicopter flew over the crash site. There did not seem to be any signs of life from the wreckage, but then, seeing anyone from this distance would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. The wind from the blades whipped up the ocean water as he pulled back. He turned the craft to return to the carrier. The captain's voice echoed through the headset in his helmet.

"Donaldson, do you copy?"

"Copy, sir," Donaldson replied.

"The SHIELD helicopter is down. There's no sign of any life. I don't see-" Just then, his co-pilot cried out in alarm. An enormous-something-was plastered to the windshield of the helicopter.

"What the-" he exclaimed as the glass shattered.

The captain called out through the radio: "Donaldson! What's going on out there!" Donaldson made out huge wings, fangs, glaring eyes. The monster flew from his view.

"Where did it go!" Donaldson exclaimed, struggling to see through the shattered glass. The co-pilot was gaping in disbelief and the radio blared in their ears. The side door made a horrible rending noise.

"Oh my God!" cried the co-pilot. The door was slid forcefully aside revealing the monster once more. It pulled itself into the chopper. Donaldson struggled to regain control of his craft while keeping his eyes glued to the creature. Strangely, it began to take a different shape.

"Ride's over, boys," the creature said and raised a silver pistol. Blood splattered on the window of the cockpit and the two pilots slumped in their seats. The radio continued to whine.

"Donaldson! Donaldson! Answer me!"

"I read you, sir," the woman said in her own voice as she took her true form. "Loud and clear."

"Who-? No, it can't be!"

"Ah, so you know. I suppose they let you in on that little secret, didn't they, cap? Well, you can let them know that the weapon is out of their reach now. It's over." With that she smashed the butt of her gun into the radio and ripped the headsets from out of their plugs. The helicopter turned and flew away, heading toward a new destination.

* * *

The sound of the crashing waves against the beach awakened him. Slivers of sunlight danced through the leaves of the waving palm trees. He moved slowly, and all his muscles screamed in protest. Belle was sleeping nearby, her cheek pillowed on the orange life-preserver. Her face and arms were badly sunburned and she had welts on her exposed skin from jellyfish stings. Remy assumed he looked much the same. He looked down at his leg. A long gash ran down his calf and across the top of his foot. It slowly seeped blood through the sand caked in the wound. Bracing himself against the trunk of a palm, he pulled himself to his feet and limped across the beach.

"Yalena!" he called, weakly, at first. "Yalena!" he cried, as his voice grew stronger.

He walked a short way down the beach calling her name. There was no sign of the woman. He came across a stream running to the sea. He walked upstream to where the water would not be tainted by the salt of the sea and washed his wounds. He wrapped his leg in half of his torn shirt. Soaking the other half of his shirt in the water, he wandered back to where Belle lay. When he touched the cool, wet cloth to her face, her eyes opened.

"You didn't find her?" she asked.

"No, there's no sign of her," he replied. "But I didn't make it all the way down the beach. I'll have to try again when I can walk easier. I think that-"

"Remy," she said, interrupting his rambling.

He sighed. "I just can't believe that we've made it through so much...just to have her...die."

"You can't save everyone," she said softly. Remy sat and leaned his forehead against his knees. She was the second person in as many days to remind him that he wasn't a hero. They were silent for the remainder of the day.

* * *

They built a fire when night fell. Remy walked up the beach, but could only go so far until the sharp black rocks that made up the island barred his way. There was no sign of Yalena. They found little food on the island. There were some coconuts and some smallish bananas. They ate the unripe, sour bananas and chewed the dry fruit from the coconuts. Belle and Remy walked back to the stream to drink. Remy watched as Belle rinsed her hair free of saltwater and sand. Her short hair, which had been standing up in stiff salty clumps, was slicked back and dark with the dampness. She rolled up the pantlegs of her cargo pants and waded in the cool water for awhile. Her fair skin had freckled in the sun, but Remy didn't mention it. He knew freckles bothered her, but he liked them. They reminded him of the girl he once knew. Remy eventually got bored and found a dead jellyfish on the beach. He picked up a stick and poked it for awhile. Belle approached him and he chased her around the beach with the dead jellyfish stuck on the end of his stick. She shrieked and laughed as she ran from him. They both got tired and reclined against a pair of palm trees. When one of them was not looking, they took turns pinching each other's sunburns. Belle removed a photograph from a pocket in her pants. Peering over her shoulder, Remy realized it was the photo of his father and Nick Fury. It was ragged and creased.

"Whatever happened to the hand grenade?" she asked, pointing to the little-boy-Remy. The boy in the photo gripped the grenade to his chest.

"Nick said I threw like a girl," he replied. Bella Donna laughed.

The following day, they both stared out at the sun dancing on the restless ocean. It was bright and hot, the heat rose off the sand in waves. In the distance, a flicker of color caught Remy's attention. He pointed. Slowly, the little shape came closer. They watched as a slim canoe-like boat slid up onto their beach. Remy and Belle sat motionless as three people got out of the boat. They were dark skinned and dressed simply. Natives of some nearby island, perhaps. One of the figures separated itself from the group and began walking up the beach toward them. In the bright dazzle of the sun, the figure seemed to waver in shape.

Remy slowly stood. "Yalena!" he exclaimed. She seemed different again. Fresher, maybe. The rings around her eyes were gone and she looked less gaunt.

"Hey, Robinsons Crusoe," she said, as she approached. "Vacation's over."

* * *

One month later Washington, D.C.

The Pentagon

She found him sitting at his desk, pouring over a doodle of a helicopter crashing into the ocean. She cleared her throat and he looked up.

"Mrs. Pierce," Nick Fury said. "I thought everyone knew not to bother me during my secret-battle-planning-"

"Shut up, Fury," said the person-who-was-not-Mrs. Pierce. Nick Fury blinked as the short, round secretary transformed into a lithe, attractive, and blue-skinned woman.

"Oh, it's you, Mystique," he waved his hand dismissively at her and went back to his drawing.

She smiled, because few people would ever act so blazé in the company of a known terrorist. "I brought you something," she said.

"Well, leave it with Mrs. Pierce," he replied. "She'll know where to file it."

She approached him and her smile grew when she realized his shoulders had tensed. He wasn't so brave as he pretended to be. She casually dropped several diskettes onto his desk.

"What's this?" he asked, finally looking up at her.

"Detailed information on new breed of Sentinel. Courtesy of the island nation of Genosha," she said. "I figured you could do better with it than me."

Fury was stumped. Mystique, being helpful? "Are you feeling well, Raven?"

"Don't question me, you sack of crap!" she responded hotly.

Fury realized she was feeling fine, after all.

* * *

New Orleans, Louisiana

They were lying in his bed, tucked under the mosquito netting which softly billowed in the breeze from the ceiling fan. Belle was gently nursing her freckled skin. Remy was fiddling with the files left to him by the two CIA agents they had met, seemingly, eons ago.

"Will you stop playing with that stuff?" she said. Curiosity got the better of her and she looked over his shoulder. He had several photographs torn in front of him. He had collaged the pieces back together to create a new face. The eyes were hard, and gold in color, set into a blue face. The nose was taken from a photo of a man named Victor Creed. It was narrow and slightly hooked at the end. The last piece was a mouth; she recognized the full small lips as Remy's X-Men teammate, Rogue. Put together, it was an odd combination. She squinted at the collage.

"That's Yalena," she said. Remy nodded, then removed the nose and mouth to reveal the photograph of a blue-skinned woman beneath.

"Mystique," he said.

"Who?" Belle questioned. "A not-so-friendly mutant I know...or thought I knew. A shapeshifter and international terrorist. Did the government know who she was when they sent her to Genosha?"

"Maybe the CIA promised her the same things they promised you?"

"Absolution from past crimes?" Remy asked. "Maybe her freedom? Who knows. I wondered why the face seemed so familiar," he said, mostly to himself. "Now I know. But what I don't know is why she went to all the trouble to save us."

"Maybe she felt she owed you one," Belle said. "You did help rescue her."

"Maybe, but we only got off the island because of you."

"And I didn't drown because you swam me to shore. So I guess that makes you my hero."

"Some hero," Remy scoffed.

"I think there was something heroic in all three of us," Belle said, and leaned forward. She kissed him briefly. "A package came in the mail this morning," Belle continued, changing the subject.

Remy pushed the files from the bed, and let them scatter across the floor. "From who?" he asked.

Belle parted the mosquito netting and left the bed, returning with a package. "It says it's from Nick Fury."

They put the box on the bed between them and peeled back the packing tape. White styrofoam peanuts spilled across the bedspread. Remy picked a card off the top of a gaily wrapped gift.

"`Congratulations on your wedding day, from Uncle Furry'," he read.

"`Uncle Furry'?"

"A nickname. I had trouble saying `Fury' when I was little," Remy replied and removed the present from the box. "So, a very-belated wedding gift?"

Belle took it from him and shook it gently.

"So open it all ready!" Remy cried. Belle peeled back the paper as slowly and neatly as possible, just to watch Remy squirm.

"Oh!" she said happily, pulling the present from the paper.

"What is it...a knife block?" Remy said incredulously.

"Not just any knives," Bella Donna said. "Henkles! Oh, look at the pairing knife! It's so cute!"

"Now, just so we're clear, those knives are for cookin', Belle," Remy said, then for emphasis: "Cooking."

Bella Donna nodded and smiled at him mischievously. Seeing her freckled face smile, her blonde locks framing her pretty features while she clutched the crumpled wrapping paper to her chest, Remy realized why he had missed her so badly. He loved her, of course.


End file.
